Everyone We Meet
by GirlishTheMarvelous
Summary: Hello! I know there are a lot of these kind of stories out there, but Chapter 1 of what I'm hoping to turn into a collection of stories begins my interpretation of how the Monkees met. (Keyword; *begins* my interpretation; it could take a while.) Sorry for the kind of lousy title. Please read and, most importantly, review!
1. An Afternoon to Remember

**Author's Note:** _I don't own the Monkees, unfortunately. Also, my intention here was not to hate on Mike or make him seem rude. I love Mike, but I wanted to show how I think so many people, not just Mike, would react to Peter._

Never let it be said that Peter Tork was not a peaceful young man. Now while he wasn't altogether _bright_, he was generally happy and serene. I'm not sure what that says about life or if it says anything at all. All I know is that it was very true for the blonde teenager that now walked down the street bearing a bass across his chest, which he plucked as he went along. He didn't notice that he was about to walk in to the middle of traffic, and he was oblivious to the man who stopped him, turned him around, and guided him back.

"Hey, fella, you oughta watch where you're going," the man said. Peter didn't look up. "Hey fella, snap out of it!" The man grabbed Peter by the shoulders and shook him, jolting him out of his haze.

"Oh! Hello, mister!" Peter said with a grin. He looked from the face of the man, who couldn't have been much older than him, to his green wool hat. "That's a nice hat. Where did you get it?"

Wool Hat Man was a little taken aback by the blonde's apparent lack of wits about him. However, he took his hat off and gave it a quick once-over. "There's a nice little shop back in Texas—hey, wait a minute! You almost walked in to the middle of traffic."

"Really? Oh gee, I ought to be more careful… Thanks, mister!" He smiled and was about to walk away when Wool Hat Man stopped him.

"Hey, man, where were you headed, anyway?"

"Just looking for somewhere to grab some lunch before I split," Peter replied casually.

"I see. Goin' home for Independence Day?"

"Nope. I'm headed everywhere."

"Everywhere?!" The Texan asked dumbfounded.

"Yup. My mom told me I couldn't make it anywhere with my bass, so I took my bass and left for everywhere to show her I could."

"Well I see you ain't to be underestimated," he replied with the slightest hint of sarcasm, which Peter didn't pick up.

"No, sir!" Peter said with a smile. "Well, I had better be going. Thanks for the conversation, …?"

"Michael, Michael Nesmith."

"Michael—that's a nice name. Thanks for the conversation, Michael. And I promise that I'll be more careful!" He grinned again (Mike gathered that he did that a lot) and went on his way.

But an unexpected wave of guilt washed over Mike. Here he was, having just saved what seemed to be the living embodiment of "ignorance is bliss" who traveled everywhere trying to prove his mother wrong while hardly understanding what exactly it was she was trying to say. Yet this guy had no place to stay, not a great family from how it sounded, no street smarts, and no friends. _And I didn't even ask the poor guy's name_, Mike thought. _Now Mike, don't you go and meddle in someone else's—aw, hell! _He frowned and ran to catch up to the blond. "Hey! Hey, wait up!" Peter turned and beamed.

"Hello again, Michael. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course. I was just wonderin' could I…could I take you to lunch? I figured, what with a holiday tomorrow and all, you could use a…a, uh—"

"Friend?" He asked quietly. _Friend? _Mike thought. _I just met you, not to mention your head's about as empty as my icebox…_ But his face was so innocent and genuine Mike couldn't say no.

"Yeah, uh, sure. A friend. What's your name, anyway?"

"Peter, Peter Tork," he said happily, extending his hand for Mike to shake.

"Good to meet you, Peter. I know a nice diner just down the street we could stop at."

"That sounds great! Gee, I'm awfully grateful, Michael." Peter told him.

"No problem, man," Mike said. "You know what? You can just call me Mike." He added.

"All right, Mike. Let's go." He smiled.

"You know, you smile a lot, Pete." Mike said between bites of a cheeseburger.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Peter supposed. He had never really thought about it before, it was just something he did without thinking. He dunked another French fry in ketchup before eating it. Mike looked at him expectantly. "Oh, you want to know why, don't you?" Mike nodded. "I've been travelling for a while and I find that smiling helps."

"Helps with what, exactly?"

"You meet all kinds of people, Mike. All kinds. And you find yourself in different situations. Smiling helps." He explained kind of vaguely. He smiled, but this one seemed different. Mike decided not to ask further.

` "So, you're a musician, then?" Mike asked, changing the subject.

"Yep! Bass is mainly what I play, but I can play other instruments. How about you?"

"For me, man, music is where it's at. I play guitar and I sing, but so far I haven't been able to do anything with it."

"Why not?"

"Well, because I, uh… You know what? I actually don't know." It was true. For as long as he could remember, Mike loved music and wanted more than anything to play and perform. So what was holding him back? "What about you and your music? Have you done anything with that?"

Peter frowned. "Not yet. I love playing, but no one has bothered to listen to me play. Not to mention that being on the road doesn't always provide a lot of time for practicing."

"Is that why you were plucking at your bass in the middle of the sidewalk?" Peter nodded sadly. All of a sudden he looked up at Mike, his expression urgent.

"I almost forgot! My amp!"

"Your _amp_? You mean you brought an amplifier with you on the road?" The blond nodded quickly. "What on earth made you go and do that? And how have you been managing that, anyway?"

"It's a smaller amp and I have a wagon that I pull it around in. I forgot that I left it in a park while I went to search for somewhere to eat!"

"Oh, doggone it, let's go and get it then!" Mike called out to the waitress as she passed by, "Miss, can we have the check please? Thanks." A minute or so later the check was brought to their table. Mike reached into his pockets and pulled out some cash.

"Wait, I'll get it," Peter offered. He pulled some money out of his pocket that covered maybe half the cost. Realizing that it wasn't much, he shrugged sheepishly and apologized. Mike told him not to worry and to save his money for a different day.

"Now let's go get that amp!"

The run to the park was about an hour long, and it wasn't the most fun run. Peter wasn't very light on his feet, as Mike discovered, and kept accidentally running into people. Each time he did so, he stopped to shake the person's hand and apologize. However, most of the reactions he got were not as polite.

Finally they reached the park, and by that time afternoon began to turn to evening, and the sun cast a magnificent gold light over everything. Mike had often passed the park, but never actually stopped at it before. He now wondered why. Peter had never even known it existed, as this was his first time in the area, and gazed upon the scene with awe. Mike spotted a tall tree with some low branches and walked over to it. It must have been the beauty of the park in the light of the setting sun that made Mike suddenly start to climb. Peter didn't notice him at first, as he was occupied with looking at the flowers. But he looked over and ran to the tree.

"Wow, Mike! Look at you go!" He exclaimed.

Mike chuckled. "You know, I haven't climbed a tree since I was a little boy back on my Aunt Kate's ranch in Texas. I forgot how much fun it is!" He climbed another two branches higher, then stopped. "Hey, Pete, come check out the view from here!" Peter climbed up to where Mike was on the tree and sat next to him on the branch. The view was breathtaking. You could see the whole park and the sun beginning to set on the horizon. The two sat there and talked for what felt like hours, mostly about music. After a while, they realized that they had to find the wagon and get a move on. They climbed down the tree and soon found an old red wagon with "Peter Tork" painted on the side in large white letters. Inside the wagon was Peter's amp.

"Man, this wagon is pretty old. How long have you had it?"

"Since I was a little boy. See, I even painted my name on the side when I was eight." There was a pause, and then Peter sighed. "I should get a move on. Thanks for everything today, Mike. I'll be sure to remember you. It's funny; I haven't found anyone worth remembering on the road before I met you." He smiled, but it was that somehow different smile that he had back in the diner. "Good-bye, Mike," he called over his shoulder as he walked away. Mike just stood there, unsure of what to do or say.

"_I figured you could use a… a, uh—" _

" _Friend?"_

"Hey, Pete!" He called out. The blond turned around. "I'll remember you, too." Peter stopped for a moment as if to think about what Mike had said to him before continuing on a few more steps. "Hey, Pete! If make your way back here in town, come to this here park again. Promise?"

"I promise, Michael!"


	2. Traveling Can Get Lonely

Author's Note: _Again, I do NOT own the Monkees' TV show, their music, or them. Thanks for the sweet reviews so far! They made me squeal with pure happiness.*warm squishy feelings* I really hope I'm portraying the characters right and that I'm doing the show some justice. _:) _Also, this one ended up being a good bit longer than the first chapter…_

When Peter continued on the road over the next several days he was sure to keep the promise he made to Mike about being more careful. He was always sure to pay more attention to where he was walking and refrained from playing his bass as he walked (the latter was the hardest part of the promise to keep). Funnily enough, it was when a jumpy brunet whizzed by that Peter found himself in Mike's shoes. He caught up with the brunet at the corner, approaching him cautiously, not sure what to expect from this encounter. "Um, excuse me. You might want to be a bit more careful…" he began timidly. The boy was now bouncing up and down as he muttered to himself. Peter cleared his throat to get this boy's attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry, man. Were you saying something? I'm just really nervous 'cause I've got this audition for a comedy gig and I was just going over my routine in my head and when I'm nervous I get jittery, and when I'm jittery I can't focus on anything else very easily and-" he stopped himself, noticing the full speed of his chatter. Peter picked up about half of what was being said, as it was all crammed into about one sentence-worth of air. "Uh, I had better stop talking now," the brunet said with a sheepish grin.

"I just wanted to tell you that you ought to be more careful. I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself if you tripped or something, since you were going so fast," he said. "Trust me; I learned that the hard way."

"_Hey, wait a minute! You almost walked into the middle of traffic!"_

"_Really? Oh gee, I ought to be more careful…" _

"Aw, man! I'm sorry! My ma always told me," –here the brunet put on a falsetto—"Micky, don't run so fast—" he stopped himself. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?" Peter nodded. "Sorry. But anyway, thanks, man. I forget how fast I am _all the time _and it gets me into trouble."

"Don't worry too much about it. Whenever you realize you're going too fast, just stop, breathe deeply, then continue on."

"Hey, thanks, man! I'll remember that. Where did you learn that, your mom or your dad?"

"No, it's just something I learned to do whenever I wandered into trouble or I found that I was getting too upset. I just changed it to apply to your speed situation." Peter smiled and Micky returned it.

"That's nice. I dig that! My name's Micky, if you didn't pick that up a minute ago." Here he put on an English accent, "Micky of the humble Dolenz family. And who might you be, fine sir?"

"Peter, Peter Tork. It's nice to meet you, Micky!"

"I'm quite charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tork," he responded, still using the accent. He meant it though; it wasn't often that Micky met someone who wasn't scared off or angered by Micky's hyper behavior. Micky checked his watch and yelped. "Gosharooney! I'm gonna be late for my audition! If I don't nail this audition, I'm gonna…" _Stop, breathe deeply, then continue on. _"I'm sorry, man, I've got to go."

"That's alright. Good luck! I'm sure you'll do just great." Peter assured him with a bright smile. Micky started to walk away, then paused and turned around. Peter was so kind and so…genuine. Micky found he was unable to just leave the guy.

"Hey, uh, do you want to come with me? I don't think the judge will mind if you just watch and wait."

Peter thought about this for a moment. "Sure!" He nodded happily.

"Let's see here. Next is…Micky Dolenz. Micky Dolenz?" The audition judge called out. Micky stumbled up the steps to the stage.

"Yes, sir! That would be me, Micky Dolenz!" he chuckled nervously and wrung his hands as he recalled the routine he had been practicing for weeks. "Ah, yes. So, a salesman and a raccoon…" Micky started his routine, clearly tense. He would have been a lot funnier, but his timing was thrown off by his nerves. Soon, he was talking very fast, stumbling on his words, the punchlines slurred. Micky looked to Peter; he was worried, but tried to put on a brave face for the both of them. _Stop, breathe deeply, then continue on. _He paused for a moment as he breathed in, then out, his chest heaving. He glanced at the judge, who was scrolling disinterestedly through his papers, crossing something out. Micky turned his attention back to Peter, and didn't turn from him the rest of the audition, which he restarted.

Peter was correct when he said that Micky would do just great. His impressions were positively spot-on! His jokes had Peter bent over, and though he tried to hide it, the judge thought he was hilarious. When Micky finished, Peter clapped and cheered, and the judge smiled broadly. "You did a good job, kid! We'll let you know tomorrow," he informed him.

Micky stood half in shock. "Pete, I did it! I did it!" He started laughing with glee and jumping around.

"You did! You were fantastic, Micky," the older boy said.

"And I owe it all to you, Peter! I took your advice; when I was freaking out I stopped, breathed, then continued on." There was a slight pause. "Hey, do you want to grab something to eat?"

_"I figured…you could use a…a, uh—" "Friend?" _

Peter thought about this offer for a moment.Micky seemed so nice, but…he missed Mike, the first real friend he met on the road. It was going to be hard to leave Micky too. Should he stay here with Micky for a little while, even though he knew that leaving was going to be hard?

"Yeah, okay. I would really like that, Micky." Peter beamed. Yes, it was going to be hard to leave, but the good time here would be worth it.

Micky was ecstatic. "Great! Come on, follow me! I know just where to go," he yelled over his shoulder as he bolted off into the street. Peter laughed as he sprinted off after him. Oh, yes; today was going to be memorable, all right.

Micky skid to a stop in front of an apartment complex, waiting for Peter to catch up. When he did, Micky clapped him on the back, causing him to cough.

"Well, here we are! Home, sweet home," Micky declared proudly. "Come on, Pete! I'll whip us up some dinner." With that, he bolted into the building. Peter gasped out an exhausted sigh, then followed him inside.

Micky's apartment was small, but quite cozy. On one wall there was a James Cagney poster with "THE MAN!" scrawled in marker. Peter glanced around at the pleasant furniture and décor and smiled warmly. He peeked over at Micky, who was scrambling around madly as he got out food and began to prepare it. "Make yourself at home, Peter!"

Peter walked around and took it all in. As a traveler, it wasn't often that he felt comfortable in a home; heck, it wasn't even often that he was _invited _into a home! "You know, Micky, it's awfully nice of you to invite me in like this. This is a really nice place," the older boy called.

"Hey, it's no problem! It really isn't much, though. It's just an apartment." The brunet replied.

"Well, I've never actually been in an apartment before. I lived in a small house as a kid, and I've been on the road for a long time now, so—" Peter stopped as he noticed something covered in a tarp in the corner.

"Really? That sounds so groovy, Peter! Peter?" Micky crossed over to Peter to see what was distracting him. When he saw what the blond was looking at, his eyes widened.

"What's this, Micky?"

"Uh, it's, uh, n-nothing," he stammered.

"Couldn't I take just a quick look at whatever it is? Please?" After a pause, the younger boy nodded reluctantly. Peter stepped over to the mysterious object and peeked under the tarp. He saw a silhouette of something he recognized quite well. "Is that a drum set?!" He asked excitedly. Micky gave another solemn nod. "Why did you want to keep this hidden?"

"Pull the whole tarp off and you'll see." Peter yanked off the tarp and immediately knew why Micky wanted to hide his instrument. It was hot pink and sprinkled with glitter. "I got it at a music store. It was really cheap, for reasons you could guess, and it was all I could afford. Go ahead, laugh at me," he sighed and turned away dramatically. Peter only chuckled slightly.

"I didn't know you were a musician. You should have told me," he said. "Hey, you know what? After we eat, let's play."

"That would be really groovy," Micky grinned.

Their jam session lasted almost two hours, which was followed by a lot of talking. Micky wanted to hear all about Peter's travels, which Peter relayed to him, though he left out Mike's name when he got to talking about him. He wasn't sure why, it just didn't seem right; especially since Micky became slightly less excited when he saw the nostalgic look that crept on to Peter's face. There was a lull in conversation. It was then that Micky looked at the clock and saw that it was now rather late. "Aw, man, it's getting late." He pointed out, yawning.

"Yeah… Well, I'd better be going. Um, do you know where the nearest hotel is?" he queried.

"What're you kidding? Crash here!"

"A-are you sure? I couldn't impose."

"Yes, I'm sure! Do you really think I'd let you just roam the town looking for a place to stay the night?" Peter shrugged in response. It was what he normally did, anyway. He didn't always have a friend to turn to, and it wasn't like he could just head home for the night. Micky, for one, was a little shocked when Peter just shrugged. He couldn't imagine this boy having to stay in hotels or on park benches at night. It just didn't seem right for him. "I'll take the couch and you can stay in my room."

"Really? You're okay with that?"

"Of course I am."

"Gee, thanks, Micky!"

They went out for breakfast the next morning and split the bill. Micky's financial situation wasn't too great. The money he made from doing small-scale stand-up gigs and odd jobs left him with just enough money to pay his rent and do very little extra spending. Being on the road didn't exactly leave Peter with much money, either; it seemed that pooling their money was their only option. The beginning of their meal was stuffed with chatter and laughter; but as their plates began to empty, their cheer began to decrease. Peter wanted to leave town about as much as Micky wanted him to.

"Well, I guess I should be going," Peter spoke as they stood outside the establishment.

"Yeah, I guess so." Micky responded glumly.

"It was really nice meeting you." Peter managed a wan smile. "Thanks again for letting me crash at your place."

"No problem; I'm sure you would have done the same. Hey, you know what? I think I'm going to save up for a new drum set. Yeah, I could really start practicing again!" The brunet's spirits brightened a bit, as did the blond's.

"I'm sure you'd do just great, judging by how you played last night." There was a long pause in the conversation, until Peter's eyes lit up. "Hey, I've just had an idea!" Micky nodded quickly, indicating him to go on. "Why don't you come on the road with me?"

Micky grinned. "Gosharooney, that'd be fantastic! We'd have so much fun and we'd see so many places and… wait a minute. What about my drum set?"

The duo stood in thought for a moment. "My wagon wouldn't be able to take it; it's too small to hold a whole drum set."

"We certainly don't have the money to buy anything, do we?" Another pause. "Wait—money…" -Micky gasped—"The comedy gig! Hey, do you think we could wait a night or two? The gig is tonight, and they should be calling soon to tell me if I got it. We could use that money!"

Peter beamed and nodded. "Sure, I don't mind waiting. Hey, if they're going to call soon, we should probably head back to your apart—" Micky sprinted around the corner to the apartment complex, Peter in pursuit. Hopefully this would turn out as planned; and if it didn't, something good could come out of it. Life usually worked that way, Peter noted in his head.

But an unexpectedly wonderful thing happened—everything _did_ go as planned. Micky's audition was accepted, and his performance was spectacular; the latter was mostly because of Peter's support. The next day after informing the apartment owner that Micky would no longer be renting, the two boys searched high and low for a place to get what they needed: a car. Micky was starting to lose hope when they came across something that was the answer to their prayers. It was a red Pontiac GTO. It wasn't in the best condition, but they didn't mind; that meant that it would probably be a lot cheaper. The owner looked the two boys up and down, scrutinizing them with his stern eyes.

"I don't know why anyone would want this piece of junk, but if you want it so bad, take it. How much have you got?" Micky reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash from the previous night's gig. The car owner looked at the money and shook his head in grim amazement. It wasn't much money at all, but he probably wouldn't get a better offer. "All right, go on then; it's yours."

"All right, Pete! We did it!"

"We sure did," Peter said, a broad grin on his face. The owner tossed them the keys, and they hopped in the car, Micky in the driver's seat and Peter in shotgun.

"And so begins the adventures of Tork and Dolenz-travelers, performers, and pals!" Micky announced to the world in a dramatic voice. But his words were sincere and filled with joy. They looked at each other and smiled again before driving off.

_Tork and Dolenz—travelers, performers, and pals._

More words from ME! _Whoo-whee! That took a little while to do! Yeah, quite a bit longer than chapter one, innit? (Wow, first time I ever used "innit"… _

_Will the adventures of Tork and Dolenz last? Will they be positively magical? Where in the world is Davy? How is Mike now that Peter is gone? Will I use "innit" __**again**__? Some of these questions may be answered next chapter! "Same space-channel, same space-time!" Yeah, I did steal that from "Untitled Web Series…". I don't own that, either. :( _


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